Vegas Blues: Hit the Road and Go
by the morrighan
Summary: Detective John Sheppard faces a life-altering decision. Note: this is the last of Vegas Blues.
1. Chapter 1

Vegas Blues: Hit the Road and Go

You can't get there from here.

Detective John Sheppard mulled over the words as he stared at the bleak landscape in front of him. Hands gripping the steering wheel of his battered red car as he scanned the dry desert. For once it wasn't blazing hot but cool. Cloudy. Swirls of dirt were dancing around the stalled equipment of construction, thrown up by the winds racing down from the distant mountains. A black mass was forming on the horizon. An ominous cloud bank that dulled the sunlight, turned daylight to a moody grayish gloom. A few tumbleweeds rolled past the silent CATs and solemn bulldozers.

John wasn't here to view the delayed construction. He was staring at the bleak desert sands trying to remember. At the crater in the earth, the hole created by an enormous explosion he could only half-remember. Nothing else came. Even the brief, tantalizing flashes of memory had stopped. As if his brain had given up trying to piece together the scattered fragments. As if whatever had happened to him six months ago wasn't worth remembering. Even the headaches had disappeared. He hadn't resorted to illegal prescription meds in a few days now.

Maybe he should just let it go and move on. But to where?

Scowling he started the car. Drove back into the city. The storm was in his rearview mirror now, chasing after him like some phantom menace. It was his day off. He found himself at a loss as to what to do, so he fell back into his old, familiar habits. Ate lunch at a local diner. Popped into a strip club for a drink and little feminine entertainment, at least of the visual kind. Then down the Strip to choose a casino for a little recreational gambling.

The vibration of his phone interrupted. He frowned, set down his cards on the felt table. It wasn't a winning hand so he was almost thankful for the interruption. He pulled the phone out of his back pocket, shifting on the chair. "Yeah?"

"Detective Sheppard? It's Moira. Moira O'Meara. Is this a bad time?"

John smiled at the sound of her voice. "It's always a bad time, O'Meara. What do you want?"

"You."

John straightened in the chair. Ignored the irritated stares of the men waiting to continue the game. "About time, baby. I can be there in five."

"Funny, Sheppard. I need to see you. I found something. I think, well, I'm not sure but I think it could belong to you."

"What is it?"

"I'd rather not say over the phone. Can you come to my place now?"

"Now? Oh, I can come..." he paused, letting the innuendo hang in the air, "at your place."

"To my place," she corrected. "Now."

He smiled as she ended the call. Imagining her annoyance. Curious at what she had to show him. He slid his phone back into his pocket, standing. "Deal me out, guys. Sorry."

"Hey! Aren't you going to stay and try to win back what you've lost?"

"You're leaving a perfectly good game on account of a broad?"

John merely smiled. Left the table. Left the casino, not caring about his losses. More curious at this summons from Moira.

The wind was picking up, gusting at times. Sighing mournfully in the trees. Stirring the wind chimes hanging along various porches into a melodic mess of high and low tones. The street was called Wind Chime Lane after all, so it was appropriate. John smiled at that.

He sat a moment after parking the car. Staring at the modest ranch house. Then got out of the vehicle. Strolled to the door. Brushed off his clothes, suddenly self-conscious about his appearance. He rang the bell. Ran a hand through his hair. Waited. Turned around to view the street. Looking for anything, anyone suspicious. A habit that would never leave him.

The door opened and he turned back round to see Moira O'Meara eying him up and down like a lab specimen. He took in her loose, flowing hair. The dark green t-shirt, the blue jeans, sneakers before he met her studious gaze. Moira had been staring. He appeared sloppy, slightly dangerous, even. A line of stubble shadowing his jaw line. A black jacket, under which he wore a white shirt open at his chest, half-tucked into a pair of black jeans. Scuffed shoes.

She met his gaze. "Hope I didn't interrupt any pressing...business, detective."

John smiled at her acerbic tone. "Did I pass inspection, then, doctor? And no, just a card game. This time. Are you going to invite me in or are we going to stand here all day?"

"You're waiting for an invitation this time? Wow. Please." She gestured, stepping aside. He entered the house. Paused as she moved past him after closing the door. She moved to the other side of the table. Stood staring at the vase of roses upon it. Red, vivid blossoms that lent a sweetness to the cool air. She knew he had sent them. Knew it could be no one else. Although the flowers had come with no signature on the card. Just one word.

Sorry.

She looked at John. She was nervous, seeing him. Inviting him after throwing him out of her house. Those fateful words scribbled on a piece of paper. Middlegate Hills. Moira had decided to give him a second chance, at least the chance of an explanation. So she waited. Expectant. But he was silent. Assessing. Stubborn. They stood frozen a moment, a tableau of hesitancy and obstinancy.

John was looking at the flowers too. The uncharacteristic, romantic gesture embarrassing. Then he met her gaze, searching for any sign of forgiveness. But she offered none. Waited for him to speak. He shrugged. "Sorry," he finally said, voice low. Gruff. Hating this kind of thing. "I didn't mean what you thought I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" she asked. Voice guarded. Gaze suspicious.

"It's where the ship went down." He thought a moment. "The dart. McKay called it a dart. There were three. This one they couldn't find. The virus spread from it, along with a, a creature. A Drone, they called it. It's the source of origin. For the virus. Anyway, that's all taken care of now. Done. Case closed. I just wanted you to know that it had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with you. What I wrote, that is. Okay?"

She seemed to consider, chewing on her lower lip for a moment. "Okay. Have a seat. Let me show you what I found."

"That's it? We're okay now? Moira?"

"Yes, John. Sorry. I overreacted." It was her turn to feel embarrassment.

"Oh. Well, I know where you're coming from, Moira. Believe me." He could tell she didn't. The way she turned away from him, entered the kitchen. He sighed. Too tired to explain further, to get into all the sordid details. Even obliquely. He sauntered to the couch and plopped down on it He waited, looking round as she moved into the kitchen. Returned with two cans of Coke. Set them onto the glass table and sat near him.

"Got anything stronger?" he asked, leaning to reach for the can. He popped it open, took a long swallow.

"No, sorry. This is as strong as it gets." She opened hers, sipped. They set their cans down at the same time.

"What did you want to show me?" he asked, finding a more neutral topic.

"Oh. This." She fished around in her jeans pocket, suddenly nervous. "I found it at the second excavation site. The one you took me to, remember? The one where you said you got shot, and, and, and died. Somehow it survived the sorting machine. Don't ask me how I know but I just do know. That it belongs to you, maybe. I'm not sure. I mean, who else was out there?"

His brow furrowed at her rambling speech. The motions of her hand digging, digging round the pocket of her jeans as she shifted on the couch, knee brushing his as she thrust her hips off the cushions. It was distracting him, as her t-shirt lifted to give him a flash of flesh. The motion of her lower body. But she suddenly stilled, finding what she sought. "What is it?" he asked. Reaching for another sip of Coke but refraining.

Moira pulled it from her pocket. Held it up for him to see. A silver chain from which dangled a small silver cross. It caught the light, softly glinting. A small piece. Almost insubstantial. A silver chain. A silver cross. Delicate in its simplicity and size.

"No. I don't think I ever had a..." The last word died in his throat as the cross twirled, twirled. Reflecting the light into his eyes. Shining silver. Opening a yawning chasm in his mind that was abruptly filled. And suddenly it happened. Everything filled his brain. The memories crashing over him, into him like a tidal wave.

John remembered.


	2. Chapter 2

Vegas Blues: Hit the Road and Go2

John remembered.

Images, words jumbling into coherency at long last. The crime scene in the desert. The emaciated corpse. Bodies being dumped in the desert with the life sucked out of them. A serial killer. Radiation poisoning leading to the Lucky Rollers motel. A poker game. The alien at the table. A chase. Jumping from the rooftop and walking away from the fall. The body in the motel room. A canvas bag full of cash. Untraceable bills. Black vans. Woolsey. McKay. Interrogation. Darts. Ancient Control Chair. Other galaxies, other realities. A rift in the space-time continuum. The Wraith in the holding cell. Todd. Bad poetry. Communication device. To contact the other Wraith and lead them to Earth. Radiation. ZPM as a power source. The ATA gene.

The silver trailer. The remote power lines into the city. The Wraith needed the power to boost its communication device. An invasion of Earth. Being shot. The explosion. Dying. Being brought back to life in that cell. Todd. McKay watching. Recuperating in a hospital in Reno. Coming back to Vegas at last to resume his life, his job, his vices.

"John? John, are you all right? John!"

Her voice called to him from a distance. Her hand was on his chest. Her thigh pressing his hip. She was leaning over him, her long hair tickling his face as he blinked. Focused on her worried expression, brown eyes full of concern, curiosity. Rosy lips not far from his mouth. Breasts not far either. He reached up, fingers brushing against one. She didn't seem to mind, didn't seem to notice as she was focused on his face, his reactions. He was on the floor, the glass table shoved to one side. The roses spilling across it. Red petals smashed amid a flood of water that was dripping, dripping onto the beige carpet.

"Yeah. It's mine." He moved his hand from her breast to see the silver chain wrapped around his fingers. The little cross glinting at him. He swallowed. "Ow." He touched the back of his head. Felt a bump, recalled hitting the edge of the couch, then the floor as he fell.

Moira moved off him, back onto the couch as he sat awkwardly. Rubbing the back of his head. Clambered onto the couch beside her as he stuffed the necklace into his pocket. "You fell off the couch," she explained as he licked his lips. Appearing slightly disorientated. "When you took the necklace from me. You scared the hell out of me!"

"Sorry," he mumbled. He reached for the Coke but it had spilled as well. Leaving a brown pool on the table. "Sorry." He licked his lips again, desperately needing a drink. A stronger drink. Instead he met her gaze. "Moira, I remember." He caught her hands in his, pulling her close. His gaze boring into hers to steady him. "I remember!"

"You remember owning the necklace?" she asked carefully, not certain if he was all right. There was a wild look in his green, green eyes. His hands tightening on hers.

"Yes. No. I remember everything. Everything!" He freed her hands. Ran a hand through his messy hair, distracted. Dismayed. Vindicated. "Moira," he said, as if her name would steady him. "It's all true. The aliens are called Wraith and are from another galaxy, another reality. There's a rift in time and space and that's how they were able to get here in their spaceships. There are other realities, other versions of us out there too."

"I doubt there is another version of me," she commented, not knowing whether to believe him or not. The tale he was spinning was fantastical, impossible.

"And I did die. I was brought back to life by that thing, that Wraith. Todd." He touched his chest, fingered the scabs. "I was running. I had a bag of cash with me and I was leaving Vegas. I quit my job. But something stopped me. I realized where that Wraith was, the one that was killing people. Draining them dry of all fluids. I went back to end it. To stop it from communicating with its kind, to stop an invasion, of sorts. And I was given a second chance." He fell silent, brooding. Remembering every little detail now.

Moira was silent. Watching him. He was absolutely sincere in his convictions, in his memory. And try as she might she couldn't deny what she had seen so far. Unexplained viruses and species. Men working for a mysterious government agency. The cover-up of evidence. "Wraith," she muttered, testing the word. She stood. Moved to the kitchen and began to wipe up the mess with a few towels. Moving onto her knees to wipe the carpet, the table. She righted the vase, restored the roses. Cleaning as she tried to process it all.

John watched her. Her long hair sliding down across her breasts. The sway of her hips, then her rear as she leaned on all fours to soak up the stains from the carpet. The towels absorbing the mess. She wiped the table, cleaning the water and the Coke. "I've been offered a job." She looked at him, moving back onto her haunches. Wet towel in her hand. "Two, in fact. Two ways to go. Or neither."

"Your second chance?" she asked. He nodded. "And what will you do?"

He shrugged. "Not sure yet. I think it depends on you."

She moved to her feet, startled. "Me? How could it possibly depend upon me?" His gaze was intent, smouldering. The green of his eyes alluring, intoxicating. He stood, stepped to her. She dropped the towel as he closed the distance between them. Pulled her into a lengthy, sloppy kiss. Moira fought. Pushed. Melted into it as emotions took over, as reason fled. As the softness, the fullness of his lips seduced her. As his hands slid around her body, pulling her to him.

"Moira," he breathed hotly into her ear. Voice low, gruff. His hands slid down to grasp her rear, to gently squeeze as she squirmed. Inadvertently grinding her crotch into his.

"John?" she squeaked, flustered.

He smiled. Freed her. Licked his lips as if to savor the taste of her. "You." He headed for the door. Almost sauntering, although he dearly wanted her. Knew she wanted him. But the time wasn't right. Not yet. Not quite yet.

Moira watched him, astonished. "John? What the hell was that? You, you, you–"

"I'll get back to you, baby, don't you worry. I just remembered. McKay must still have that bag of money and I want it back."

"Hang on! What the fuck was that, John? You can't just walk out like nothing happened! You can't just stroll in and out of my life whenever it suits you! You can't–"

He turned to face her. Smiled at her anger. "Just did, didn't I?"

"You arrogant son of a–"

He rushed to her. Yanked her into his arms and kissed her. Hard. Tongue all but devouring her, drowning her as he eased her mouth open. Thrusting his body along hers. "When I come back here we are going to have some serious, serious sex." Before she could reply he was gone. Closing the door after him and sauntering down the walk to his car.

Moira blinked. "John? John!" She left the house, slamming the door after her. Locking it. She rushed after him. "Damn it, John, wait!" He snorted, ignoring her as he got into his car. About to pull away when she flung the door open. Slid onto the passenger seat. "John!" She hit his arm. Hit it again.

"Moira, you want it now?" he inquired mildly.

"Damn it, John! What are you–" She grabbed the handle, shutting the door as he took off. The car zoomed down the street, wheels screeching in protest. "Where the hell are we going?"

"I hope you remembered to lock your door, Moira," he chastised.

"Where are we–"

"Buckle up, baby."

"Stop calling me that!" She secured the seatbelt, fuming.

"I told you. Need to see McKay to get my money."

"And then what?"

He met her gaze. Smiled, his intentions all too obvious as his gaze roved her body again.

She sighed, pissed. Glared at him and looked out the window. "What are you going to do? I mean about all of this? Remembering everything."

"Nothing."

"Nothing? What about the two job offers?"

"Don't know yet. Like I said, it all depends on you."

"On me? How? If we have sex or not?"

He laughed. "No. We're going to have sex, don't you worry, baby. No, I meant if you will agree."

"Agree? To what? Sex?"

He laughed again. "No. Of course you'll agree to that. I meant if you'll agree to one of those job offers. I need you to bring them all together. If I decide to do it that way."

Moira shook her head, looked at him. He was staring ahead, driving. Smile on his handsome face. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You will."


	3. Chapter 3

Vegas Blues: Hit the Road and Go3

They drove in silence. Leaving the city behind them. Leaving the bright lights of Vegas. The modest suburbs. The strip malls. Entering the lonely desert. Approaching the coming storm head-on. The dark clouds roiling above them, turning the day into a pseudo-night. Tumbleweeds blew across the increasingly bumpy asphalt road. The wind a constant howl outside the car.

John abruptly pulled off the empty road. Stopped on the shoulder. Dirt under the tires. He turned to Moira. Expression grave. "Moira, this could be serious."

She looked at him. "What? The sex? I know. You told me."

"Not only that but the rest of it."

"The rest of what?"

He let his gaze wander over her again. Back to her face. "This stuff. Aliens. Wraith. God knows what else."

She waited, but he didn't elaborate. "And?" she prompted. He started the car. Began to drive again. Silent. She sighed. Cursing to herself. "Fine. You can be so damn infuriating at times."

He smiled. "It's one of my best qualities."

"Really? I thought that would have been your sparkling conversation." He chuckled. She smiled. "You're going to work for him, aren't you? For McKay."

"Maybe."

"And the other job? A promotion for that sting operation? It was all over the papers."

"Yeah."

"I still don't see how I factor into any of this."

"You will."

She shook her head. "I don't think so, detective. I've been offered a dig. An expedition to Outer Mongolia."

"Mongolia? Are you kidding me?" He glanced at her, but she was serious. "What the hell is in Outer Mongolia?"

"Bones. Fossils. Lots. The desert is full of them."

"Look around, doctor. We have a desert right here, you know."

"Yes, but not like out there. And I'll be safely out of the way. Wouldn't want to get anyone else killed." She sounded bitter, sad.

He glanced at her again. "Been there, done that, Moira. Are you taking the job?"

"Maybe. I don't see why not. There's nothing really to keep me here." She glanced at him. Shy, almost afraid. Looked back out the window.

"Don't. Take the job, I mean. I've got a better offer for you."

"You do?" She eyed him. Realized. "Oh no. No way, John! I'm not working for those goons! Not after what happened to Carson! Stop the car!" she ordered. Grasping the door handle as if she would leap out of the vehicle.

"Now just hear me out, Moira."

"No! Is that what you wanted all along?"

"I think you know what I've wanted all along." He glanced at her. Raised a brow. "This is a recent development."

"No. Is that where we're going?"

"We're going to find out about that money. You need to hear me out, Moira."

"I don't need to do anything, John."

They traveled in silence. Dust devils were dancing to either side of the car as it sped along the narrow highway. Leaving the asphalt behind for a bumpy dirt road that wound its way through the desert. The sky was darker, glowering down on them, but no rain fell. The mountains were shadows looming larger and larger as they approached.

"Where the hell is this place?" Moira wondered. They have been traveling for nearly half an hour now. Passing nothing but dirt and more dirt. "I don't like long commutes."

"In the middle of nowhere."

"John, I won't do it. I am going to Mongolia."

"Hear me out at first, would you? The truth is, Moira, I need you."

"Need me? Why? For what? Or is this another come-on?"

He smiled. "No. I need you for what I have in mind. If I take the job, that is. I'm thinking it might be better if I don't quite quit. Not exactly, anyway."

"You're not making any sense. Why don't we go back to the city and just have sex to get it over with," she suggested tiredly.

He chuckled. "It won't be like that with me, baby. Not with what I have in mind. Not with what I intend to do with you."

She stared at him. Assessing. Curious. Angry. "John, you said those things are real. That all of it was real. Space aliens and ships and viruses and all the rest. Are there more of them out there? Out here?"

"Don't know. We need to find out, don't we? I want you to see it. The living one. I want you to see what this has all been about. I want you to see everything, Moira."

Moira shrugged. "Okay. I guess. I would like to see this, this unknown species. A living one. But why is it so important to you that I see it, see all of it. You remember everything, right? Why do you need me to see it?"

"Why? Because you want to see it. You need to see it. Because I need another opinion, an outsider's view, a biologist's view. Not their's."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions, you know that?"

"And you manage to avoid answering them. John? John!"

He smirked. "Moira, did I ever tell you how fucking hot you are when you are angry?"

"Oh shut up!" He laughed. She stared out the window. "Is that it?" A long, low building was coming into view. A nondescript set of buildings. Dim in the low light. Isolated among the shadow of the hills like a lost child. Alone.

"Huh. Yeah, that's it. But that's weird. No cars or vans. Or security." He slowed the car, pulled up towards the chainlink fence surrounding the property. A building with no name, no sign, no identification of any kind, yet John recognized it. Knew it. John parked the car. "Huh."

Moira glanced at him. "Well? Were you expecting a welcoming committee?"

"No, but something. At least." He watched a tumbleweed roll past the building. He leaned, reaching over to open the glove compartment. Pulled out a gun.

"John?" He was close, so close. She could see the silver hairs glinting in his sexy sideburns. The nape of his neck, the long lines of his throat as he turned his head. The broad shoulders under the black jacket. She shifted a little to avoid him but he moved, deliberately brushing against her anyway. Straightened and checked the clip in the gun. Met her gaze, saw her frown. "Stay close to me, Moira. Something's not right here."

"And we're going to walk straight into it? Wonderful." Nevertheless she got out of the car as he did. Followed him closely to the doors. He opened them. Advanced, gun drawn, held out in front of him. But he lowered the weapon seeing that the room was completely empty. Even devoid of furniture. He stared round. Moira did as well. "John? Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Yeah. How many secret government installations can there be out here?"

Moira didn't have an answer. She followed John as he crossed the room. The facility was eerily silent. The only sound was the wind moaning around the set of buildings. Mournful. Low. John was walking, his footsteps echoing. Trying to retrace his steps from memory. The interrogation room. The room where all the scientists converged with their computers and scanners. The long hallway. Finally down the stairs to the holding cell. It was as empty as every room. Vacant. Even the lone chair was gone. There were no ships, no aliens, no odd equipment. No desks or chairs or high tech toys. There was nothing. Not even dust.

"This is where they kept it. The, the Wraith. Todd."

Moira was shaking her head. She eyed the empty cell. It was very dark down in the lower level. She felt a chill as the wind howled above them. "Okay, John."

"I swear, Moira, it was here! It was all here! It was this facility! I remember everything!" He looked at her. She was staring at the cell, hugging herself. "You do believe me, right? This is the place. It was all here, I swear! I'm not making this up!"

Moira met his gaze. Saw his honest perplexing reaction. Consternation. "Yes, I believe you, John."

He seemed to visibly relax. "So what the hell happened here?"


	4. Chapter 4

Vegas Blues: Hit the Road and Go4

John circled the empty cell. Gun still in his hand but at his side. Even the blue light was gone. Plunging the room into darkness except a few flickering emergency lights that cast baleful orange spots on the floor. He circled back to stand next to Moira.

"Did they all just up and leave?" Moira wondered aloud.

"Apparently. To a more secure twenty, I'm betting, after the almost incursion. Way off the grid, as if this wasn't enough."

"A what?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "A location," he translated.

"Oh. You don't think that, that thing, that Wraith got out and–"

"No. There would be bodies, for one thing. Besides, all of the furniture and equipment is gone, and I doubt the Wraith would take all of that with him. I don't think Todd is opening a salon anytime soon." He met her blank look, shrugged. "Never mind. Since this is basically a covert-op they will be mopping up everything. Erasing every trace of their existence."

"And everyone?" she asked, looking round. The shadows were threatening black masses in a sea of darkness that was only held at bay by the little emergency lights.

"Possibly. But not like that. Not again," he assured, seeing her unease.

"So now what?" she asked, somewhat comforted by his assurances. "How do you find them?"

"I have a feeling they'll find us."

"You. Not me." She sighed. "You were right, though. I would have liked to have seen it."

"Thought so. Let's go. The next move is up to them, I guess. To contact us."

"You. Stop dragging me into it. You were offered the job, not me. Unless that was just a ruse too. Have you considered that? Maybe that's why they abandoned this facility. Maybe it was all just a ruse for something else. A bait and switch, or deniable plausibility? Now it's something completely ordinary and terrestrial. What if it was all an elaborate hoax?"

"It wasn't," he finally interjected. Touched her arm. "It was all real, Moira. All of it."

"Are you sure? I mean, these recovered memories you now have. How can you be sure those are even real?"

"You don't believe me," he stated.

"I believe you, John. But look around!" She gestured at the cell. "Everything's gone. Every trace of evidence we had has been taken, except for a few flash drives that alone mean nothing without any concrete evidence. They've even tried to warn us off by violence and you are seriously considering working for these people? Why? Because they gave you a second chance and you feel you owe them one?"

"Maybe, maybe not. I just know I can't walk away from it. Not again," he replied mildly to her sudden anger. "And that means I can't let you walk away either."

"Just watch me." She moved past him, climbed the stairs. John followed her. Amused. Understanding her disbelief, even her anger. In fact her anger was making him have increasingly sexual thoughts of her as she strode ahead of him, hair swinging, hips swinging in tandem. They reached the main room. The wind was wild, flinging the door open and shut, open and shut. A loud clanging on metal and wood.

Moira braced herself and exited the building. The howling wind nearly knocked her down. She strode to the car, raising her arm to block the grit and dirt that was flying all around her. John followed after her, as her long hair was streaming out in every direction. His jacket flapped open as he leaned into the wind, squinting against the churning dust devils. The sky was dark, incredibly dark as the clouds billowed and thunder echoed loudly across the landscape.

They got into the car, slamming the doors shut against the wind. A heavy raindrop hit the windshield. "Great," Moira muttered, grabbing her hair and running her fingers through it to assuage the mess of tangles. "What?" she snapped, seeing his stare.

"There's something I want to check. Stay here."

"What? John, no! There's nothing..." Her protest fell away as he exited the car. Sprinted into the building again. His jacket flying behind him as the wind tried to rip it from his body.

Rain began to fall. Huge drops bombing the car. Erasing the last of the desert heat with a frigid breath as the wind howled like a wild thing. Moira shivered. She waited, annoyed and worried. The rain was pouring as the dark clouds ruptured. A violent downpour. Lightning danced in the sky. Bolts of pure electricity. The rain was pounding the car now, a deafening cacophony of metallic music. It was difficult to see past the curtain of water to the building swathed in gray. Moira opened the window a crack to breathe in the fresh, wet air.

Suddenly a gunshot broke through the other sounds. Another. Moira nearly jumped, almost yelled in alarm. She didn't hesitate. She got out of the car and ran to the building. "John! John, John! Are you all right? John!" She skidded into the structure, the wind shoving her across the expanse. The door slamming, slamming as she ran across the room. "John!" she shouted. She whirled, hearing footsteps. Ran to him as he appeared, walking nonchalantly. "John? John!" She ran to him. "I heard shots! Are you all right?"

"Yeah." John was unharmed. He was staring at her. Taking in her drenched appearance. Wet straggling hair all around her. The t-shirt molded to her breasts, every curve and swell and dip. The jeans clinging to her hips, her legs. Water dripping from her to form a cold pool at her drenched sneakers.

"John? What happened?" Moira's puzzled gaze could find no injury. He wasn't upset or in a rush. Appeared almost bored until he had caught sight of her.

He met her gaze. "Nothing. I had to open a cabinet."

"You...you had to open a cabinet?" she repeated, baffled.

"Yeah. Damn thing was empty. Let's go, Moira." He headed for the door. "Moira!"

She followed. "You opened a cabinet by shooting at it? Why? I mean, what was in there?"

"Nothing, I just told you."

"I mean what did you think was in it!" she snapped. Cursed as the wind pushed at them, as if to keep them trapped in the building. They ran across the lot to the car. Drenched in mere seconds as the force of the storm tried to drown them. They dove into the car, slamming the doors shut.

Moira shivered, staring at John. Water was dripping from his messy hair, along the stubble lining his jaw. His clothes were soaked, clinging to his lean, muscled form. The white shirt all but translucent now, revealing the tangled chest hair, the scabs, every line of his torso and waist. He started the car, began to drive. Moira hugged herself, thought better of it when his gaze moved to her, lowered. Remained. "So?" she snapped. "What did you think you would find? Records? Files? They're all gone too! Doesn't this wreck have any heat?"

John smiled. The combination of her anger and her drenched appearance was making his lower body react. His jeans felt tight again. He pulled off the road, lack of visibility making it all but impossible to proceed safely. The wipers were useless against the violent assault of the rain and the wind and he shut them off. Turned off the ignition. "Afraid not," he answered at last. "And it's not a wreck."

"Then why doesn't it have any heat? You know, most gentlemen would have offered me their jacket," she chastised, shivering.

"Yeah, most would," he agreed. "Why would I do that when I am enjoying the view?" he teased, meeting her gaze. He raised a brow, smiled. Leaned across to put the gun back into the glove compartment. Moira sat back to avoid him but his proximity was tempting. So tempting. Water trickling down the nape of his neck. His dark hair sparkling with it. He smelled fresh, clean, like the rain. He moved his arm towards her. The back of his hand just brushing her breasts. She made a small sound of protest, of surrender she didn't know which.

John didn't care. He moved, straightening to face her. Only to kiss her. A slow, sweet, seductive kiss as he cupped a breast, fondling as his mouth danced along hers. Guiding. Controlling. She was wet from the rain, cold from the storm, but her skin felt hot, her curves were soft and that was all that mattered. Her little sounds compelling him, arousing him as he kept kissing her.

Moira lost herself in the progression of kisses. The playful motion of his mouth, of his tongue. He tasted of whiskey and rain and spearmint and the heat from his body was consuming. She felt her shirt being lifted, lifted but she didn't care. She wanted the feel of his rough fingers on her skin. Shivered as he skimmed along her now, under the shirt, under the bra. She felt cold air on her bare skin, a bare breast. Then John's tongue licking the trickles of rain. John's mouth kissing and nibbling and sucking. Moira arched, softly whimpered. Her fingers ran in his messy hair. She guided his face to hers, kissing him. Her shirt fell back into place as she engaged his mouth in less sensual areas.

John wasn't deterred. As her fingers slid down to his chest, nails gently raking his chest hair and the drenched shirt he slid his hand up her thigh, inexorably towards his intended target. He kissed across his cheek to her ear. "Back seat be more comfortable," he breathed hotly into her ear, all but pressing himself against her as much as he could.

"What?" Her voice was a breathless exhalation, a soft gasp as his nimble fingers reached their intended target and proceeded to engage with a vigorous push.

"Back seat. Now."


	5. Chapter 5

Vegas Blues: Hit the Road and Go5

"No." Moira squirmed, shoved, but her hands found no purchase on the wet shirt plastered to his lean, hard chest. In fact she was making things worse, feeling the warmth of him, the muscles. Another button popped open, revealing even more as his fingers slid up to undo her jeans. Fingers tugging at her zipper now. "John! We're not having sex in the car!"

He paused, so intent her words didn't register for a moment. Only the desire between them, only his fingers brushing bare skin registering. Then they did. He grunted, a deep sound in his throat. Sat back from her, freeing her. His hand sliding down her thigh to her knee. Smouldering gaze locked with hers. "Are you sure, baby? If you are worried about positioning I can always lower the back seat," he offered with a smile.

"No. The storm's over. Look!" She turned his face to the window, fighting her own desires, her own emotions. He was sexy and wet and sloppy and she wanted him, how she wanted him. His hunger only matching hers. But she reined it all in, forced it aside. "See?"

The rain had stopped, as abruptly as it had started. The storm clouds were breaking apart. The sun was shining through them, sending rays of light to dance in the fresh air. Streams of light in the blue and teal sky. Everything was dripping wet but would soon be dry again as the earth absorbed it all, drinking every last drop of moisture. The wind had gentled to a breeze.

Moira's fingers slid along his jaw to his sexy sideburn to his disordered hair before she freed him. "John?" Quickly she zipped her jeans, buttoned them. Fixed her bra under her shirt.

He met her gaze after watching her movements. "This storm is just beginning, baby, and the oh." He stared in surprise, in pleasure as she had taken a very, very firm hold of his jeans and what was trapped within them. "Keep it in your pants, Sheppard. We're not, I repeat, not having sex in your car. Now let's back on the road and back to Vegas. Okay?" She wickedly slid her fingers, nails digging a little, then freed him. Tried not to smile as she eyed the dashboard.

John scowled, smiled. He settled back into his seat, shifting as his discomfort was all too obvious. He started the car. They sped along the road, bumping wildly until hitting the more serene length of the asphalt. The silence between them was both amiable and frustrated.

"It wouldn't fit anyway."

John nearly swerved into the other lane and off the road at her serious comment. He snorted, glanced at her. She appeared stern, somber. As if stating some scientific fact, but mischief sparkled in her brown eyes as she glanced at him. A smile teasing her lips. He smiled. Laughed out loud. "Don't you worry, baby, I'll find a way to make it fit. Delicious."

"Stop calling me baby," she reprimanded.

The car slowed as the outskirts of the city came into view. Buildings bathed in the rosy glow from the sunlight streaming through the clouds. The aftermath of the storm a brilliant wash of color chasing away the gloom. "Where–" John began.

"Lab. I've got to get back to work."

"Okay. I should get back to the precinct. Wait. No. It's my day off," he remembered.

"Lucky you. Maybe you should use those detective skills and track down McKay."

"Or I could use another skill set and we could go to your place."

"Funny. The lab, please."

John sighed. "You know, all work and no play can make Moira a very dull girl."

"I'll take my chances." She eyed him. Imagining him in her house, her bed, her sheets. The focus of his full, undivided attention. Being intimately entwined with that long, lean body.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" John teased, glancing at her.

"Shut up!" He chuckled. The low, sexy sound slithered along her skin. "So are you!" she accused.

"Never said I wasn't. Here we are."

"What? Oh." She stared at the building. Almost not recognizing it. Forgetting where they had been heading. Distracted. Very distracted. She met his gaze. He was watching her, amusement in his green eyes. "Thanks. For the ride, I mean. For bringing me. Back here. To work." Each clarification was more awkward. Embarrassing.

John was gallant enough to ignore her flustered pronouncements. "Thanks for the cross. For helping me remember. Remember everything."

She nodded. Reluctant to leave. "What will you do now?"

"Don't know. You?"

"Don't know." They smiled a moment. Moira got out of the car. Stepped round to the driver's side as he rolled down the window. "See ya, Sheppard."

"You will, O'Meara, you will. And thanks."

"For the memories?" she jested. "You already thanked me."

He smiled. "Yeah, for that too. But I meant thanks for the quickie hand job. See ya."

"John!" she scolded, but he drove away from her, laughing. She stared after the red car. "Men!" she fumed under her breath, but smiled.

"Hey! What are you doing here on your day off? You are never here on your day off! Heck, sometimes you aren't here when you should be working. This is a first! I'll have to post it on Facebook!"

John smiled. "You're a riot, Dean. Whatever. What's this?" There was a box on his desk. John stepped to it. There was no return address. A plain, cardboard shipping box. Postage paid. John touched it, pushed it. There was a little weight to it.

"It was just delivered this morning," Dean replied, following him into the office. "Good thing you popped in."

"Yeah, good thing." John picked up a letter opener. Waited. Turning the letter opener round and round in his hands. Eyed the man who was watching, curious.

Dean shrugged. "Is that my cue to leave?"

"Got it in one, Dean." John waited until the man had gone. He cut open the box. Stared. He recognized the black canvas bag immediately. Quickly he unzipped it, leaving it in the box. Opened it. Eyed the bundles of cash still inside it. Undisturbed. He pondered this. Zipped up the bag. Closed the box. Grabbed his phone as it vibrated. "Yeah?"

"You received the box."

"McKay," John identified the voice. "I did."

"Good. I've been holding it for you."

"I remember. I remember everything now. We need to talk." Silence. It stretched and stretched uncomfortably, forcing John to speak. "Rodney?"

"We need an out of the way place," Rodney answered, voice lowering as if loath to be overheard.

Which in fact he was. He glanced around the new facility, conscious of the security cameras watching his every move, listening to his every word. It was all a little too Big Brother for him.

"Beckett's," John said automatically. "You know it. In an hour. No, make it two." John ended the call. Cursed as he suddenly remembered he had been barred from the establishment. He grabbed the box, carried it out with him. Ignored the stares of curiosity. A quick trip to the bank and the cash, well, most of it would be in his bank account safe and sound. No questions asked. A flash of the badge would do the trick. Bills untraceable, forgotten in the aftermath of the explosion and subsequent cover-up.

He would keep a little of the cash out of the bank for his needs. Maybe even pay some bills. Maybe even the rent this time. But he knew he'd waste it on alcohol or gambling or both. Maybe even a prostitute or two. Maybe not. Maybe he'd swing by Atlantis Jewelry and Gems. Surprise Moira by returning a few of her sold items to her.

He drove around a while, killing time. Considering his options, his best course of actions as plans formed. Ideas percolated. Thinking of the cash. Thinking of McKay's offer. Hunting space aliens in his spare time and who knew what else. Thinking of his job here, in Vegas. The possible promotion. Thinking most of all of Moira. The intensity in the car. The taste of her, feel of her.

It had been awhile since he had to woo a woman, and not just simply pay for it. It had been awhile since he had had that kind of an interest in a woman, beyond the physical. An actual relationship that wasn't merely a monetary transaction. One that would require thought and feelings and even emotions. Would require time and consideration. Would require John Sheppard to step up to the plate after a long drought and maybe, just maybe hit a home run.

For the first time in a long time John had to remember how to do the simplest thing.

How to ask a woman out on a date.


	6. Chapter 6

Vegas Blues: Hit the Road and Go6

Rodney McKay put down the phone. Outwardly disturbed, inwardly elated. A strange conflation of emotions that he didn't quite understand. At least it took his mind off his wife and that whole complex set of parameters.

"He remembered." Richard Woolsey walked over, clearly unhappy. The overhead lights bounced off the lenses of his glasses, giving him an owl-like appearance before he stepped out of the pool of illumination into the shadows.

"Yes. Everything." Rodney saw no reason to dissemble.

"I told you this would happen. I warned you. This complicates matters. What are we to do?"

"Simple. Hire him."

"You've got to be joking," Richard stated, frowning. The last thing he needed was a loose cannon like John Sheppard to be involved in this. In any of this. He was too unsavory, too unreliable. He couldn't be trusted with what had to be kept in utmost secrecy.

"Do I sound like I'm joking? We need him. He's damn good at this kind of thing."

"Seriously?" Richard stepped into the light again, came face to face with Rodney. The table between them where the phone sat. Silent. "Sure he is, when he's not liquored up or gambling his paycheck away or consorting with, with harlots."

Rodney smiled. "Consorting? Yeah, that's one way of putting it." It amused Rodney to no end how obviously uncomfortable Richard was in Las Vegas. "Look, he'll clean up his act. He's got motivation now. He'll seize the initiative."

"I don't believe you. And we need to keep a tight rein on him. Look how this has spiraled out of control! We've got a wayward detective involving various civilians and even a reporter now! We need less people, not more! We are supposed to be low-key."

"We are. Face it, Dick, we made a mess and you screwed up the clean-up. Sheppard had our backs whether he meant to or not. He'll clean up his act. You have to trust me. He'll get on the straight and narrow and–"

"For how long?" Richard scoffed. "Did you forget we're in Vegas? Every temptation is right here, right now! One bad day and he'll–"

"It's a gamble, I know! But as you said, Dick, we are in Vegas."

"It's beautiful!" Moira smiled as she held up the wind chime. It was a delicate piece of work, full of crystals that shimmered, spreading rainbows across her as the sunlight became reflected in each prism. The little chimes tinkled merrily, a lovely tone that was soothing. Soft. She hung it on the porch of her house with the others.

Evan Lorne smiled. "I thought you needed something. Things haven't been very great, have they?"

"No, they haven't. Thanks!" She hugged him, stepped back to view the wind chime again. Neglecting to give him a kiss on the cheek, which he noticed. "It's beautiful! And you made it."

"Yes." Evan was watching her as he leaned against the wall. She appeared sad and secretive all at once, and it intrigued him. She seemed preoccupied and he felt a flash of jealousy. Something he hadn't felt when it came to her. "Moy, what is it? You know you can tell me anything."

"I know. It's nothing. The, the grant. They are supposed to reach a decision today. About the funding. The trip. About, about me." She found herself stammering and chided herself.

"And?"

"And...and...other stuff," she hedged. Felt a blush. Pretended it was about having to sell the last of her jewelry, but knew it wasn't all that. It was John. The sensual, sarcastic interplay between them. The intensity between them in his car. The man was fascinating and infuriating. If she closed her eyes she could still feel his hands on her. His mouth on her. The press of his body. The scratch of his stubble along her skin.

"Like that detective?" She whirled, startled. Guilty. Sensual imagery shattered. "Thought so. He's bad news, Moy. He chased off a perfectly good client of mine! One I really needed if I was gonna come close to breaking even this month! He got Carson shot for God's sake! Bringing the trouble right to his doorstep, so to speak! He's got you so rattled you don't know whether you're coming or going!"

"I know," she sighed. "It's just–"

"Just what? Don't be an idiot, Moy! You don't need him. Besides, you know what will happen. Once he gets what he wants he'll dump you like a sack of potatoes."

"Gee, thanks for that, Evan. You really know how to make a girl feel special."

Evan moved to her. Caught her arm. "Sorry. But you know exactly what I mean, Moira. Guys like that, they don't care. They're too self-absorbed to notice the little things, the details. He'll forget you and just move on."

She sighed. "I know. They...they always do. It's just..." She turned away from him to view the street. It was quiet. A suburban neighborhood. Dull. Monotonous. Mowed lawns and smooth driveways. The distant barking of a dog could be heard. "I felt a, a connection. A–"

"It's called physical attraction. Lust. Hell, even I'll admit he is damn good-looking," Evan grudgingly admitted. Frowned.

"It was more than that!" she snapped, irritated. Dismayed.

"Maybe, but did he feel that? Probably not. Forget him, Moira. Before he breaks you. Guys like that, they'll break you. Face it, Moy, you're outta his league. I don't mean to be cruel but you need to hear the truth, don't you? Like you told me about that blond stunner, and yeah, you were right. Let it go, okay? Just let it all go and move on. Let's go to dinner. I'm starving!"

Carson Beckett was cleaning glasses, wiping them dry with a towel. Cool as a cucumber as he could feel the irate, attractive woman staring at him. Her dark curls bouncing round her head. She was clad in a red t-shirt, jeans. He shook his head. "No. I can't say the name is at all familiar."

Elizabeth Weir frowned. Suspicious. "You're sure? What about this? Recognize him?" She shoved a picture across the bar. A black and white photo above a newspaper article. The picture was grainy, as if the subject was trying to avoid having his photograph taken. It was slightly blurry but still you see the features of the face.

"Sorry, love. I've never seen him before in my life. Maybe he's a teetotaler."

Elizabeth scoffed. "In this town?" She snatched the paper. "Yeah, right, and I'm a virgin. Thanks for trying. If you do happen to see him around give me a call, will you?" She set her card on the bar. Shoved it towards him. Carson glanced at it. At her. She scowled. Suspicious.

Carson waited until she had gone. He lifted the card. Tossed it into the trash, having no intention of ever calling her. "Coast is clear."

Chuck Campbell emerged from behind the bar. Cautiously stood, peering round. "Thanks, doc! I owe you one! Maybe even two."

"Try three. What's she want with you anyway?"

"My most recent article. About a mysterious abandoned site in the desert. Some secret government facility. Rumored to be experimenting with alien technology and even having an alien hostage. Real good stuff!"

"Oh come on, laddie! What is this now, the Syfy channel? Where did you get such a story?"

"I have a very, very reliable source! Airtight! I've got pictures too. Front page news!"

"Seems you might be onto something," Carson mused, looking at the series of photos that Chuck was displaying on the counter. "But you are attracting the wrong kind of interest. Be careful, Chuck. Take it from one who knows. These people don't fool around."

Chuck nodded. "Don't worry, Carson. I've got friends in the right places now. I think. Anyway, it's my job. As a journalist."

"Just be careful, laddie. You never know what is around the corner."


	7. Chapter 7

Vegas Blues: Hit the Road and Go7

Todd sat in the cell. It was a new cell, but was pretty much was identical to the old cell. The same glass walls surrounding him, containing him. The same soft blue light amid the sea of darkness. The same cold metal chair the only fixture. He sat cross-legged on the floor, arms folded on his lap. Eyes closed as he sank into a deep meditation.

The prelude to hibernation. It was the only way to survive. The little sustenance the pathetic human captors had given him wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. So he resorted to hibernation in order to survive. To conserve his strength. And there would be nothing they could do about it. Not a thing.

Unless they killed him.

But Todd knew they wouldn't kill him. He was far too valuable. Too valuable a specimen for their experiments. For the advanced knowledge he contained. With which he bargained for survival. For the minimalist of feedings. Soon, though things would change.

So far his plans were falling into place. One by one. He had tested the strength of the Drone. Of his own communication skills. Then of his captors and their response to it all. His willing, gullible minion was gone, but no matter. He would find another. There seemed to be an excess of weak and easily manipulated minds on this planet, in this place. There was only one thing in his way. One obstacle to overcome.

That damn detective.

The one he'd been forced to bring back from the very brink of death. The one he briefly, oh so briefly feasted on. The taste of him! Such strength, defiance, despair, virility! It was refreshing! Exhilarating. Until he had been forced to give it all back. Draining himself as he bestowed the gift of life, to an unbeliever, no less. Restoring the man to life. It had been a near thing, but he had done it. Now he knew. He knew the only man who could ruin his plans, who would stand against him, who would be ruthless in his pursuit of him was the one he had saved.

John Sheppard.

Todd hadn't been lying. He had indeed seen John Sheppard's destiny. United inextricably with his own. One would fall. One would rise. Todd knew what he had to do. A checklist of sorts, as these humans like to compose, to bring order to their short lives and little minds. Regain his strength. Activate the fourth Wraith. Communicate the location of Earth to his brethren across the stars, beyond the rift. And last, most importantly, destroy his most formidable enemy.

John Sheppard.

Not quickly, oh no. Todd planned to savor every last drop. First by making him suffer. By taking whatever was most precious to him. And destroying it. Preferably in front of him. Todd didn't know what it was, this precious thing or person, but he soon would. He could be patient. Bide his time. All he had was time now. And after tasting that sweet agony, Todd would complete his checklist.

And kill John Sheppard.

John felt a chill as he descended the stairs to the morgue although the sun was blazing and the building was warm. He hadn't even reached the twin swinging doors when the chill crept up his back. He shook it off, but an old wives' tale came to mind. About someone walking over your grave. He pushed the thought aside, entered the morgue. He stopped abruptly.

There was a covered body on the slab. But John knew the identity of the corpse. He felt a tightening in his gut. A wash of grief and guilt. DeMouy sat at a table, muttering to herself. Hunched over a microscope. White lab coat a stark contrast to her black hair. "Can't identify it, can you?"

DeMouy turned in the chair. "What are you doing here? It's your day off."

"Yes, I keep being told that."

"Yes, to your question. Whatever was in this kid's system and overloaded it is gone now. Except for a trace amount that I can't identify. It was the sudden withdrawal that killed him, John. Not your bullets."

John took a small amount of comfort in that. A very small amount. "Probably some newfangled drug. From overseas."

"No. You don't understand. I can't identify these chemicals! There's a baseline, of course, of known chemical compositions but beyond that the proteins are, are...alien," she decided on the word, puzzled. Not realizing how close to the mark she really was.

"You don't say," John drawled.

DeMouy moved to her feet. "What's more, I can't figure out what happened to make his eye look like that! A total absorption of both pupil and iris into a black mass. And the scaling on his arm, it's like nothing I have ever seen and I specialized in infectious diseases! It's almost like he was, was beginning to mutate. Into what? His whole body and internal organs were saturated with that chemical, then completely drained of it. He went into massive shock, irreversible. What could do that?"

"I told you. Some newfangled drug from off, overseas." He almost said off planet, but didn't, catching himself at the last minute. Barely.

"No. I should be able to identify every compound, no matter how they are chemically joined and enhanced! There are no unknown elements anymore, John! It's only the combination that can be different or unusual but this, this has unknown elements which shouldn't even be possible!"

"Leave it, DeMouy. You have to trust me on this. Write it up that way. An overseas drug."

"You want me to lie on a coroner's report?" she asked, surprised.

"No. Just close the case. And here." He pulled out a wad of cash. Placed it in her hand. "That should cover the funeral. Give him a decent burial. He deserves that much."

DeMouy's hand closed over the cash, as her mouth opened. Too stunned to reply she could only nod as John glanced at the body again, lips pursed together. Emotions buried, not rising to the surface. Then he was gone, exiting the morgue at a brisk stride.

The diner was closed. Not that many people came by at this time of day, but still the sign had been flipped to discourage any who might venture this way. Despite being closed the restaurant had one customer. Rodney sat in a booth, head in his hands, elbows propped on the table. A piece of cherry pie in front of him, neglected. The whipped cream oozing down one side to swirl on the plate.

"So now I need another physicist plus a doctor. Maybe I can put an ad in the paper. Wanted, topnotch, somewhat brilliant physicist and well-qualified medical doctor to work for secret government agency. Must be able to keep secrets, tell lies and stay loyal to a fault."

A cup of coffee was set next to the neglected pie. "You should have gone to the memorial service."

Rodney looked up to see Katie Brown watching him. Her admonishment gentle, but firm. Her sympathy a balm to his pain. Even her chastisement was. "I couldn't. I just couldn't. There's not going to be a funeral. They're shipping him back to Czechoslovakia. I should go, I know, I just...I, I, I don't speak Czech."

She smiled. Took the seat opposite him. "Fair enough. But you should have attended the memorial service, Rodney. At least that. You were his friend."

"Yes, I am. I mean I was." Rodney sighed. Shook his head. "I couldn't. I didn't know what to say. At that kind of thing. I was afraid I'd get too nervous and then start to laugh or some other horribly inappropriate thing."

"You were afraid you would say too much," she observed.

"Maybe. I do like to talk." They smiled. "And he was my friend. A brilliant scientist. I just wish I had told him that more often."

Katie touched his hand as it lay on the table, near the pie. "What are you going to do?"

He knew what she meant. Knew the question was about Jenny. He had obliquely told her about the trouble. Without mentioning aliens or sympathizers. Just a security leak. A misguided young woman confused but it could have had dire consequences. No, it had dire consequences, he realized, thinking of his friend. Of the young man John had known. Of the string of murders enacted in the city in a short period of time. Jenny never considered the full consequences of her actions. She never did. She was young, so young in many ways still. Rodney sighed. Shook his head. Met Katie's gaze.

"Honestly, I have no idea."

But his fingers entwined with hers. Tightening.


	8. Chapter 8

Vegas Blues: Hit the Road and Go8

John flashed his badge a second time. The store lights glinted on the gold. "Are you gonna make me pull rank on you?" he asked loudly. A customer turned, staring. Alarmed.

"No, no, no, no, it's fine! We here at Atlantis Gems and Jewelry are above board on every transaction, I can assure you," the owner, Peter Grodin stated in his cultured voice. Sending waves of calm to the other customers in the store. He looked at the surly detective. "I'm telling you, detective, there's nothing left of hers."

"Check again," John suggested, but it was more of an order as he stood. Gaze like ice.

Peter sighed, lifted a book out from under the counter. He flipped it open, finger running over the pages. "What was the name again?"

"O'Meara. Moira O'Meara," John repeated for what had to be the third time. His patience was wearing thin.

"Oh! The paleontologist! Of course. I remember now."

"I bet you do," John commented, but Peter sounded genuinely contrite.

"Yes. She's becoming one of my regulars now. Needs extra funds to pay bills. Or so she says."

"Meaning?"

"I'm sure that's true most of the time, don't get me wrong. She's never tried to rip me off or anything. She always sells me quality stuff. No, it's just I saw a pamphlet once."

"A pamphlet?"

"Yes, about some famous paleontologist guy. He's been on tv and everything. He was giving a lecture, on a tour, of sorts, at the prestigious Field Museum. I was curious so I googled it. Quite the expensive ticket, that guy is, for the lecture and the tour and all the bells and whistles. Even a private luncheon was up for grabs. I'm just saying she seemed pretty keen on the guy. Just wanted to see him and hear his talk about paleontology. Peter Ward! That was his name."

"Whatever," John said, not really caring. Everyone had their own interests, their own pursuits. Even their own addictions, of sorts. "Is there anything left?"

"No. Oh wait, yes. One piece. The rest I already melted down for the gold."

"That must make you a tidy profit."

"Yes, it does, gold prices being what they are. That's why so many people are selling. But I always give a fair market price. Here." He procured a necklace from a drawer, set it on the counter. "It's not much, but I kept it in case she returned to buy it back from me. I know she probably has to scrimp and save for those trips, but I could tell it pained her to sell this one. It's only 10K, not 14K, but I took it anyway."

John was staring down at the little gold necklace, from which was suspended a small gold puffed heart. No bigger than one of the buttons on his shirt. "How much?"

"Two hundred."

"What? You didn't give her near that amount, did you? And now you want to charge me that much for it?"

"All right, all right, one hundred." He sighed at John's stare. "Eighty, then. I can't go lower."

John scowled, but counted out the money. Gave it to him and pocketed the necklace.

"You're really going?" Evan stared, as he sat across from Moira. The restaurant was busy. They were still waiting for their food.

"Maybe." Moira shrugged. "If I get the call, then yes."

"But Mongolia?" Evan asked, startled.

"Yes. I need the money and the work. It's a good opportunity for me. I can't–" She paused as her phone rang. The tone the theme to Star Wars. She smiled as Evan smirked. Answered it. "Hello?"

"Where the hell are you?"

She smiled at the irate tone. Turned away to reply. "And hello to you too, John. If you must know I'm out. Having dinner."

John hadn't been able to find her. She hadn't been at home or at work. His frustration was evident in his voice as he replied, "You mean on a date? Let me guess. Lorne?"

"Yes. No. I mean yes, I'm having dinner with Evan but it's not a date. Not exactly."

John smiled as he sat in his parked car. "Well, which is it, Moira? You don't sound too sure. If you were on a date with me you would certainly know it, believe me."

"Really, John? Does that mean you were going to ask me on one or just cop a feel in your car?"

He chuckled. "Both. And as I recall, baby, you copped quite a feel yourself in my car. More of a grab than a feel. Quite the handful, wasn't it? And you said it wouldn't–"

"You were going to ask me out on a date?" Moira asked, ignoring his provocations although enjoying them. Silence. "John?"

"Um, yeah. I was. Am. Was. It's kinda awkward since you are on one now. Unless you're not." Silence. "Moira?"

Moira had forgotten all about Evan. She glanced at him to see his frown. "I gotta go, John."

"So it is a date? Well? Is it, Moira? Hey...before you go, tell me what you're wearing."

"I'm not dressed up or anything, John. I have to go."

"That's not what I meant." His voice took on a low, husky tone. "Blue today? That lacy, little thong, perhaps? Tell me, does the bra match?"

She frowned, but smiled, turning away from Evan again. "Yes. It matches."

"Ah. Push-up?"

"Yes."

"Front or back closure?"

"Front."

"Sweet. Is that what you're wearing now?"

"No."

"Good. So...let me think. Pink? No. Purple. Please say purple. Satin? Sheer? Skimpy? So tight on that pert little ass it's riding up even now? So tight I'll have to peel it off you and then spank those fucking succulent cheeks until you beg me to–"

"John!" she flared, as she found herself shifting on the seat. She crossed her legs. "Tell me, detective, are both hands on the steering wheel? Please say yes."

He laughed at her saucy words. "Don't worry, baby, I've got everything in hand. Do you? I bet you wish you did, Moira."

"Not as much as you...oh shit!" She colored, turned. Evan was leaving the table. "I gotta go! And stop calling me baby!"

"Moira? Moira? Crap," he complained as she ended the call.

"Evan!" Moira caught up to him on the street. She grabbed his arm, stopping him. "I'm sorry! I just..."

"What?" Evan glared at her. "Couldn't resist? Three's a crowd, Moira!" He was unaccountably jealous. Something he had never felt over Moira. It both pissed and puzzled him.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you? Did you expect me to just sit there while you flirted with that guy?"

"I wasn't flirting! He, he, he–" she stammered, knowing full well she had been flirting as much as John had been.

"Save it!" But he sighed. "Let's go to your place. We can pick up something on the way. Okay?"

She nodded. Strolled with him to his car. "Okay. Sorry, Evan."

"And if he calls again–"

"I'll ignore it. Don't worry. Let's get something to eat. I'm starving!"


	9. Chapter 9

Vegas Blues: Hit the Road and Go9

Moira ignored her phone. Knew it had to be John. She sat next to Evan on her couch. The remains of the meal spread on the glass table. "Do you want some coffee? I feel I owe you something after that, um..."

"Yes, you do owe me something." Evan caught her. Kissed her. Pressing himself to her as he all but shoved her backwards onto the couch.

Moira pushed. "No! Evan, I didn't mean that! Get off me!"

"Just close your eyes and think of him, then, Moira," he snarled, hands wandering, until a slap hit his face.

"Get out!" She shoved, squirmed free of Evan's tight grip. John's grip had been tight as well, but also gentle. He hadn't hurt her. Evan had, however by accident. She moved to the door, flung it open. "Get out! Or do I have to call the police!"

Evan stood. "You mean call him? I'm sorry, Moira, I don't know what came over me."

Moira watched him leave. Shut the door. Checked her phone. The call hadn't been from John. It was about the expedition. She phoned John. It went to voice mail. "John?" She paused, calming her voice. "John, I'm going to Mongolia. I'm sorry. It won't work. It never does. Sorry." She ended the call. Rubbed her arm where a bruise was forming.

"You're barred." Carson's expression was uncompromising. Stern even. He glowered as only a Scotsman could glower, full of Celtic ire.

John mildly returned the stare. His phone vibrated but he ignored it. Figured it was Moira. He'd let her stew a bit, for fun. "I'm meeting someone here."

"Who? Moira?"

"No."

"Well, that's something."

The thought crossed John's mind to mention how he had almost, almost gotten very intimate indeed with Moira in his car, but he refrained. Exhibiting good judgment for a change. "Can't I at least get a drink while I wait?"

"No. I told you, you're barred. Do I need to call the police?"

"I am the police," John reminded, putting a little iron into his words, but Carson appeared unfazed.

"Then meet your buddy and get outta my bar!"

"He's not my buddy." John frowned. The liquor bottles all looked so appealing. He was thirsty. But he scowled as Carson stood his ground. Arms folded across his chest, just waiting. Waiting to throw John out of the tavern as if he was some lowlife scoundrel and not a detective.

"Sheppard." At the quiet voice John turned on the stool to see Rodney approaching. His dark suit was slightly rumpled. He looked weary, care-worn. Bags under his eyes. John recalled the arrest of his wife Jennifer. How she had been a spy for some whacko sympathizers of the Wraith. She had been bailed out of prison. He wondered how that particular conversation had gone. "Let's go somewhere quiet. Private."

"You can't. You're barred, Sheppard. Don't you remember?" Carson argued.

John ignored him. Moved to his feet. "This way." He led Rodney into the back where private booths lined a wall. The two men sat across from each other. Shadows striped the floor, the walls. The table.

"What did you do to piss him off?" Rodney asked.

"Don't know."

"You seem to have a knack for doing that."

"Yeah. So?"

Rodney hesitated. "You remember?" John nodded. "Everything?" John nodded again.

"Does that complicate things?"

"Tremendously. But maybe not. Have you considered my offer?"

"The job? I have, actually. The thing is, I'm thinking I should–"

"What can I get ya?" A barmaid interrupted. Tray at her hip. She eyed the two men, set a bowl of pretzels between them. "Well?"

"Two Buds. That okay?" John asked.

"Fine." Rodney smiled. Ate a few pretzels.

John waited until the waitress had gone. "I think I might be of more use if I didn't give up my day job," he resumed.

"Being a detective?" Rodney inquired.

"Yes. You need a man on the inside, right?"

"Yes, that would be extremely helpful. If something does occur. To investigate and to cover it up successfully."

"Tell me, is it only the Wraith?"

"No. There are..." Rodney paused as two beers were set on the table. The barmaid eyed them again. "After this you gotta go or the boss will call the cops. Sorry."

The two men sipped the beer. Enjoying the quiet, the beverages. A moment of peace, of solitude.

"There are other aliens," Rodney continued, voice falling to quieter tones. "We've just discovered a horrible, horrible species even the Wraith fear. As far as we can tell they are called mazollimullions."

John grimaced. "They sound awful."

"They are. They are two-headed monstrosities that kill everything in their path. Destroy what is good for no reason except their own petty egos and appetites."

"They sound vile."

"They are. They created a wave of destruction that offended everyone. I only pray they don't make it through to our reality."

The two men shuddered. Drank the beer. Consumed some pretzels.

"Does this mean you'll take the job?"

"Under certain conditions."

"Conditions? And those are?"

"I keep my day job. And I run my own team."

Rodney blinked. "Your own team?"

"Yes. Not your people, though. My people. Consider them to be outside consultants. When they are needed, of course. They will have full access to everything. If I can get them together, that is. That all depends on Moira."

"Moira? How?"

"She's the lynchpin for the rest. Don't worry, I can charm her round. I think."

"Will they sign the non-disclosure agreements? For that matter, will you? Woolsey's a stickler on that."

"I figured. Yes, we will all sign it. And we will need a salary. Expenses, you know."

"Agreed."

"How will this work, exactly? You encounter another alien or virus or rift in space time whatever, a Wraith or God forbid one of those mazollimullions and you call us in to deal with the problem and create a solution?"

"Yes. Just who will be on this team of yours?"

"Experts. In various fields that have proven to be useful."

"And Moira's the lynchpin?"

"Yeah, that's what I said."

Rodney shook his head. "All right. I guess. I think we've struck a deal. Shake on it?"

The men stood. Shook hands. Finished their beer. They headed out of the back room. Stepped out of the bar into the brilliant Vegas sunlight.

"You know, Shep, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

"It could, McKay. Just don't call me Shep."

THE END


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